Steam
by soullesswonder
Summary: Gil still had no idea what exactly was going on, but whatever that bathtub was doing to Oz, the boy liked it. A lot.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **thank you for all the reviews! there _is _another, much more citrusy chapter, but i'm not finished writing it yet. ^^; however, now that i've finally figured out how to edit an already-posted story, i've fixed the OMG-this-system-hates-me html coding error, and hopefully, i'll have the rest of this fic up before too long.

*****

Being back in the Bezarius mansion was... odd. Nothing had changed in ten long years, although to Oz, it felt like only a few weeks had passed: the halls were decorated with the same old tapestries the upstairs maids cleaned once every six months; the kitchens still smelled of strawberry pie and Mrs. Kate's meatloaf; and the bathroom tiles still gleamed as snow-white as the day they'd been laid.

Oz had stumbled upon his father's private quarters while roaming around the house one afternoon, and, unable to resist the temptation, opened the double doors and went in. With his father gone, there was no one to scold him away from the enormous bed with its heavy velvet draperies, the armoire large enough to hide himself, Gil, Break, and half the household staff in, and the _bathroom_ - the private, attached bathroom with the bathtub Oz had never been allowed to use.

This tub was a white porcelain monstrosity of a thing, from which golden pipes ran like gleaming snakes to a mahogany cabinet that stood next to it; the intricately carved cabinet had two doors on the front, like an armoire, and a single lever that stuck out of one side mysteriously. Supposedly, this was what housed the gears and whatnot that made the tub so special, and Oz was nearly bursting with curiosity.

Zai Bezarius had bought the thing from a famous inventor; rumor had it that the same man had also engineered some "questionable contraptions" for the Nightray family, but Oz had dismissed the stories as servants' gossip. He didn't think his father would have anything to do with the Nightrays - even if it was only to hire the same inventor they had - and he didn't know what a "questionable contraption" was, anyway. He'd asked Mrs. Kate when he'd first heard the rumor, and his poor governess had turned an odd shade of red and told him very sternly to go outside and play and mind his own business, or she'd get after him with a slipper.

Oz shut the bathroom door - even if no one was going to scold him for messing with Lord Bezarius's mysterious bathtub, he couldn't help feeling a bit guilty and secretive about it - and went to investigate. He opened the cabinet's doors and his mouth fell open at the sight: a collection of golden pipes, some kind of bellows, two glass jugs, and - of all things - a water wheel, all connected somehow by a serpent's nest of hoses.

Oz was a smart boy, and it didn't take long for him to deduce that the pipes running to and from the bathtub must carry water in and out of the cabinet as well; the wheel controlled the bellows, which was something like a suction pump; which in turn pushed and pulled the water through the jugs, which were reservoirs; which fed the water through the pipes and back into the tub. Apparently the lever controlled the speed of the wheel, which would then make the water flow to and from the tub faster or slower. If his deductions were correct, the bathtub, when filled with water and the machine switched on, would be like a personal ocean, flowing and bubbling and swirling.

He was utterly fascinated.

He was out of his clothing in an instant and turned the elaborate golden taps, filling the tub with steamy hot water; he was half tempted to jump right in and throw the lever, but common sense warned him against it. If Zai had been gone ten years, then it was most likely that neither the tub nor the machine had been used in all that time - which meant something could malfunction, and he didn't want to get hurt. Plus, how embarrassing would it be if some mishap were to befall him that would end with him being rescued - naked - from this weird bathtub? Very. He took a cautious step back and threw the lever upward a few notches - and to his great delight, the wheel began to turn, the bellows pumped, the reservoirs filled, and the golden nozzles on either side of the tub began to spurt water into the bath in submerged streams. Practically squealing with joy, Oz leapt into the tub and sat down.

Within moments, he began to realize what the gossip-mongers had meant by a "questionable contraption"; there was something definitely... _questionable_... about the way the water-nozzles were arranged. No matter which way he moved, the streams flowed over places on his body in a way that wasn't exactly _bad_, just... well... questionable. Thinking the sensation would change if he adjusted the speed of the wheel, he rolled onto his hip and reached for the lever; a burst of water hit him in a _very_ sensitive place, and in surprise, he misjudged the force necessary to move the lever a few notches and ended up throwing it into full gear.

The water-nozzles shuddered and spat very suddenly, causing a high-speed burst of water from every angle, striking Oz's vulnerable anatomy like divine bolts of lightning. He was overwhelmed by a relentless, pulsing sensation so intensely pleasurable it almost hurt; he clung to the rim of the tub, his mouth falling open in a cry of discovery and ecstasy; the water pelted him from all directions, streamed over tender, sensitive parts suddenly brought to full arousal; and it was all the poor boy could do to hang on and try not to pass out from the sheer pleasure.

*****

Gil was starting to worry. He'd been looking for Oz for nearly an hour, and while logic told him that his young master was perfectly safe in his own house, Gil didn't like it if Oz was out of his sight for too long, and so he'd begun to walk the halls, looking into rooms and calling Oz's name occasionally. While walking through the northern wing of the manor, he spied an open door and was immediately suspicious, because that door led into Lord Bezarius's personal suite - and the lord of the house had not been seen for ten years. He knew it was Zai's personal quarters because he'd been in there - only once, when he was about eleven years old; then-twelve-year-old Oz had pulled him into the room by the hand, a mischievous smile on his sun-rosy face.

"Come on!" the young master had said, "It'll be an adventure! Wow, look how big the bed is!"

Gil, who had been along with Oz on more adventures than he'd really cared to and had been punished for being a part of several of those adventures, had stood in the middle of the room, his small fists curled fretfully under his chin, trembling so much his thin knees had knocked together painfully. "Young Master, we shouldn't be in here!" he pleaded, in a desperate voice barely above a whisper. "Please, let's go! We'll be scolded severely if we're caught!"

"Stop worrying, crybaby!" Oz had said, grabbing Gil's arm and pulling him over to the bathroom door. "The maids already cleaned the north wing this morning - we're the only people on this end of the house."

"But what about your father?" Gil had reasoned, hating the tremor in his voice.

"He left an hour ago. Now give me a boost so I can reach the door handle! Come on!"

The fluted handle was set very high in the door - Gil suspected Lord Bezarius had instructed the carpenter to put it out of Oz's reach on purpose - so Gil had very reluctantly locked his fingers together and held his hands out for the older boy to use him as a step.

Oz had raised an eyebrow at him and said with an expression that always meant trouble for Gil: "Oh, you can't support me with just your hands! Kneel down on the floor, I'll use your back." This had led to something of a scuffle, which - of course - ended with Gil on the floor on all fours, Oz's small booted feet planted firmly in the middle of his spine.

After what had felt like ages to the smaller boy, the door swung open and Oz had leapt down with a joyous shout. "Oh! Gil! Look at the bathtub!"

And before Gil could get to his feet and see what his young master was so excited about, something had smacked him sharply across the behind with a painful _whap_, and Mrs. Kate was pulling him to a standing position by the collar of his blue sailor shirt, a bedroom slipper clutched in her other hand. "Look at you two!" she had cried, exasperated. "I swear, I can't take my eyes off you boys for an instant!"

Oz, looking very much like a startled deer, had blurted, "Mrs. Kate! We were only-"

"Only getting into mischief, as usual!" The harried governess had been certain at that moment that she'd start getting gray hair long before her time, at the rate things were going. "What on earth were you thinking, Young Master Oz? What if your father had returned unexpectedly and found you in his rooms? And _you_," she'd exclaimed, glaring down at poor Gil and giving him a little shake. "Encouraging him like this! You should be keeping him _out_ of trouble, not helping him get _into_ it! There'll be no dessert for you two tonight!"

Gil shook the memory from his head, blushing; even so many years later, the thought of Mrs. Kate's wrathfully wielded slipper still made him wince. Instinctively pulling his revolver from its holster, he slipped through the open door and listened. From the other side of the bathroom door, there was an odd sound: something like the clatter of an old mill, along with the churning noise of bubbling water, as of an enormous cauldron full of boiling soup. And mixed in with it - the unmistakable sound of Oz's voice, strangled and breathy and odd. What the hell?

He grabbed the door handle - it seemed so much lower now - and pushed the door open, unsure of what he'd find. A Chain? That stupid rabbit, boiling Oz alive in the bathtub he'd never gotten to see? Lord Bezarius? He had no idea what to expect - but he certainly didn't expect to see what he actually saw.

Oz was lying on his side in an enormous porcelain bathtub, the water churning around him; the boy's blond hair was damp and clinging to his flushed face; droplets of water gleamed on his slender, nude body; his small hands clutched the rim of the tub as if for dear life; his long eyelashes were fluttering frantically on his smooth, blushing cheeks; and his mouth was open, little cries spilling out in short, ecstatic gasps.

Ecstatic?

A jumble of thoughts had flown through Gil's head when he'd first laid eyes on the scene: _Is that boiling water? Is that why Oz is all red? Why the hell is he taking a bath in boiling water? Why isn't he screaming? Why is he just making those noises that sound like... oh..._ At first, he'd thought Oz was in some kind of pain, but the look on the boy's face had nailed it down - that wasn't pain Gil saw in his young master's expression - it was _ecstasy_. Gil still had no idea what exactly was going on, but whatever that bathtub was doing to Oz, the boy _liked_ it. A lot.

Oz's body suddenly arched like a drawn bow, his head thrown back; a long, enraptured moan escaped him, and he collapsed against the side of the tub, trembling. He lay there, panting, his dripping hair plastered to his flushed forehead, his eyes shut.

Gil was frozen to the spot.

Somewhere in the back of his head, a voice was commanding him to leave the room as fast as possible, to pretend he'd never seen this, to never, ever, _ever_ mention it to anyone as long as he lived - especially not to the lovely young man he'd just caught doing something very, very private.

Lovely? Oh, hell.

He just. Couldn't. _Move._

Somewhere in the midst of his bliss-fogged daze, Oz noticed he was feeling a bit... cold. It took a long time, but he managed to drag his heavy eyelids up just far enough to look for the source of the draft, and there in the clouds of steam stood the vision of a tall man in a long black coat, the moisture in the air seeping through his thin white shirt, making it almost transparent; a gleaming silver gun dangled from his gloved hand; his thick black hair was curling in the humidity; and all around him was a beautiful light that framed his form like a glowing halo. Oz smiled dreamily. It didn't really surprise him that the first hallucination this glorious contraption would induce would be one of his beloved servant. "Gil..." he breathed, strangely happy despite his exhaustion.

That single word, the blissful murmuring of his name... Gil's mouth fell open in shock, the gun dangling, almost forgotten, from his slack fingers. His face suddenly felt hot. Had Oz known he was there? Had Oz _intended _for him to see... _that?_

A heartbeat later, he got his answer.

Oz, upon seeing Gil's expression change, realized with a horrible, stomach-turning clarity that the man he saw was no vision - Gil was actually _standing there_, had actually _seen him_ doing..._ that_... and was staring at him in open-mouthed shock; the light that surrounded Gil was from the open bathroom doorway - which was where the draft was coming from. Oz's green eyes flew open wide, his already-pink face flushed another shade or two redder, and he was suddenly, painfully aware of his own nudity and the incredibly compromising situation he was in. Mortified beyond comprehension, he ducked under the water in the desperate hope that if he couldn't see Gil, then Gil couldn't see him, either. Unfortunately, he'd somehow forgotten that the bath he was sitting in wasn't the normal still kind - and once he plunged his head beneath the roiling surface, his face was immediately assaulted by fast-moving streams of water that forced their way into his nose and mouth. He flailed, involuntarily inhaling quite a bit of water, and was just thinking that yes, this was the most embarrassing mishap that could possibly have befallen him thanks to his father's ingenious bathtub...

...And suddenly, strong arms were lifting him out of the merciless torrent, holding him tightly, protecting him as he coughed up all the liquid choking his lungs.

"Are you all right?" Gil asked, and Oz looked up to see the older man's golden eyes full of concern and something else he couldn't quite place - something... alluring.

Embarrassed half to death, Oz shoved him away and leapt from the bath; his wet foot hit the polished marble floor, and suddenly his leg wasn't there anymore. No, it was still there, but it seemed to be made out of pudding. His whole body seemed boneless and weak, and as the unforgiving marble tile rushed up to meet him, he thought:_ It's a good thing my bones have all vanished somehow, because that floor looks awfully hard, and if I were solid, this would hurt a lot_. His numb hand shot out to catch hold of something, anything that might help him regain his balance, and found the towel rack - which instantly detached itself from the wall and followed Oz on his hapless journey down to the floor. So much for that idea. He shut his eyes tight, bracing himself for the inevitable collision - and instead found himself once again wrapped in the protective ring of Gil's arms, his wobbly legs crumpled, his bare behind scant inches above the cold marble tile.

"Are you all right?" Gil asked again, the towel rack rolling off the back of his shoulder to clatter noisily across the floor. Oz was too mortified to say anything, so Gil gently lowered him to the floor and took off his own coat, which he draped over his master's shoulders and wrapped quickly around his slight, nude form, fiercely ignoring the flash of disappointment he suffered at the loss of the sight of Oz's body.

Oz, grateful for his servant's thoughtful gesture - he knew Gil had done it to help him maintain at least _some_ of his dignity - clutched the lapels of the coat to draw it closer around him and stared at the floor, his face burning. "I'm... fine." After an extremely uncomfortable pause, he added, "I... need a towel."

"Oh!" Gil blurted, "I'm sorry!" He snatched up one of the fallen towels on the floor behind him and unfolded it, holding it out. "Here."

Oz raised up on his knees and dropped the coat, then waited expectantly for Gil to dry him.

Gil's heart skipped a beat or two before he realized what Oz was waiting for. Oh. Back when they were both small boys, it hadn't been terribly unusual for Gil to dry his master off after a bath - they _were_ both boys, after all, and Oz, being the heir to the exalted Bezarius house, was as pampered as a little prince. Gil had been honored to be allowed to do something so personal for his master, and Oz had always benevolently obliged when asked to turn this way or that or to lift an arm; however, that was years and years ago to twenty-four-year-old Gil, who was somewhat at a loss at the present.

"Gil? I'm cold."

Those three softly spoken words were a subtle but unmistakable command, and Gil found himself apologizing again and coming over to kneel behind Oz and envelop him in the thick white towel.

Despite his embarrassment and the tumble he'd just taken, once Oz was safely wrapped in the warmth of the fluffy towel and Gil's arms, he began to relax again; his recent experience in the bath had really tired him out, and he was comforted by the knowledge that Gil would never, ever tease him about what had just happened, nor would he ever mention it to anyone. As humiliating as the whole situation was, Oz had to admit that if _anyone_ were going to catch him doing... that... Gil was the best possible person to have done so; Mrs. Kate would have had a heart attack, Uncle Oscar would have laughed and celebrated it as some kind of coming-of-age milestone, Break would never have let him forget it, and Alice would probably have destroyed the bathtub in a fit of jealousy... or tried to get in it with him to see what was so great about it. All in all, the whole affair was a grand example of a hot mess, but it really could have been much worse, and Oz was starting to feel somewhat better about the whole thing. He allowed himself to lean back against Gil, his head coming to rest lightly on the larger man's collarbone.

Gil froze as his body reacted to the boy's trusting gesture; his hands stilled, the now-damp towel hanging lightly from his fingers; his heart began to thump painfully in his chest; and as the curve of his young master's rump nudged innocently against him, Gil found himself trembling, despite his best efforts to remain calm. He swallowed thickly, praying Oz wouldn't notice his shaking hands, pounding heart, or any of the other things his treacherous body was doing of its own volition.

"Gil?"

The hapless servant nearly jumped. "Uh... yes?"

"You're cold."

Gil blinked. "What? No, I'm not." How could he be cold? Not only was the room full of steam, but he also felt as though his blood were boiling. "I'm fine."

Oz rolled his head back on Gil's shoulder to look up at his face. "But... you're shaking."

Gil couldn't think of anything to say other than "I'm sorry." A droplet of water dripped from his hair to splash across Oz's upturned forehead, and all he could do was stare down at the boy's shining green eyes.

"Don't be silly. You're soaked." Oz turned in Gil's arms and took the towel from him, then reached up to dry Gil's hair with it. "You have to be cold, sitting there in those wet clothes."

Gil bent his head down obligingly, allowing Oz to ruffle the cloth over his hair, then immediately wished he hadn't - because with the towel over his head and his gaze lowered like that, all he could see was the youth's slim, naked body stretched out in front of him: his smooth, narrow chest, marred only by the scar above his heart and the tattoo-like mark of an illegal contractor; the graceful curve of his ribs, made more noticeable by the arms-up position he was in; his flat, slightly muscled abdomen... Gil's face burned as he realized he was staring at his young master in a way he really, really shouldn't - but his hand came up, unbidden, to rest on Oz's chest, his fingertips lightly tracing the scar Gil had given him so long ago, on the horrible night the Baskervilles had forced him to stab his beloved master.

Oz stilled, his breath hitching oddly in his chest. "Gil...?"

"I'm sorry," Gil murmured, his voice a low rumble Oz had never heard before; he continued to stroke the pink ridge gingerly, realizing that although it had been ten years since he'd inflicted the wound, it was still a newly-healed injury to Oz. "I'm sorry for this." He raised his head to look into Oz's confused, beautiful face, and it was just too much. "And I'm sorry for this, too."

Without further ado, he wrapped a hand around the back of the boy's head and pulled him in to kiss him with years and years' worth of repressed passion.


	2. Chapter 2

Oz went stiff with shock for all of about a second before his whole body went boneless again; he collapsed helplessly, but Gil's arms were there once again to hold him and protect him and support him, and in another moment, he was clutching at Gil's wet shirt with both hands, twisting the cloth in his fists. He struggled desperately to match the rhythm of Gil's kiss, embarrassed at his own awkward, inexperienced responses; and when Gil's tongue swept across his lips, demanding entrance, he opened his mouth and was lost.

Gil tasted of coffee and cigarettes, of bitter chocolate and rain, of darkness and anguish; his kiss was almost unbearably hot, his lips surprisingly soft; his tongue explored Oz's mouth with long, velvety strokes that made the boy's heart hammer against his ribcage; and Oz was only vaguely aware of the small moan that was emanating from somewhere in his own throat.

Gil stopped as suddenly as he'd started, turning his head away to stop himself from giving in to the desire to just keep right on kissing those perfect, rosy lips, and to hell with self-control. Oz was his master, not his lover, and too young besides; although he was _technically_ twenty-five - and had already been through his coming-of-age ceremony and was considered a legal adult anyway - he still looked so _young_, dammit! And not only that, but this was a boy who had lost his mother; a boy who had been openly and cruelly rejected by his own father; a boy who had been thrown into Abyss on his birthday after being stabbed by his best friend; a boy who craved love like Gil craved nicotine when he was stressed; an affectionate, emotionally wounded, vulnerable boy Gil had absolutely _no right_ to kiss. He was taking advantage of Oz, and he had to stop before things went too far and he hurt his precious master further.

He was plunging headlong into a good bout of self-loathing when he felt Oz's small, warm hands on either side of his face, gently turning his head so that he was once again looking into those emerald eyes. "Gil..." the youth whispered, a smile curving his kiss-swollen lips. "It's okay."

Gil blinked in surprise, both charmed and taken aback by Oz's earnest expression and the careful way he cradled Gil's face in both hands. "Oz..."

"It's okay," Oz repeated, and leaned in to press his lips to Gil's in a sweet, lingering way that made the larger man feel as though it were some kind of holy kiss from a divine being that was forgiving him of all his sins.

Forgiving him.

Gil sat there passively, his hands resting lightly in the small of Oz's back, and allowed the boy to kiss him at his own pace: first shyly, almost timidly, then with a bit more pressure; Gil guided his young master with his own mouth, gently teaching him how to establish a rhythm; and when the tip of Oz's tongue grazed tentatively over his lower lip, Gil thought again of divinity.

Oz's heart was beating so fast he feared it might explode; his stomach seemed full of butterflies; his lips tingled from kissing Gil so much... no, just kissing Gil, period, made his entire body tingle, and he was excited and confused and delighted and terrified and completely befuddled - but he just couldn't stop. He didn't think he could even if he really wanted to, which he didn't. Gil tasted strangely good, warm and bittersweet, and Oz was surprised to discover that he even enjoyed the smoky cigarette undertone; it added a flavor of... danger. Danger? He realized with a sudden, shuddering thrill that Gil was actually a very dangerous person now, tall and strong and lethal - far from the weedy little boy that had followed him around like a puppy for five years. Gil had grown into a powerful, formidable man - a man that was patiently allowing Oz to clumsily kiss him. This thought did something to Oz that he couldn't explain; it was stirring and wondrous, the grandest adventure he could have imagined; he was trembling with arousal and a little fear, and he had to steady himself by wrapping his arms around Gil's neck, his fingers twisting in the bigger man's raven-black hair.

This was too much for Gil to take; unable to remain acquiescent, he splayed one hand between Oz's shoulderblades and one in the hollow of the boy's narrow back and pulled him as close as possible, pressing their bodies firmly together; Oz's smooth, bare skin rubbed against Gil's wet clothes, the scratchy material of the bigger man's trousers producing strangely thrilling sensations. Oz made a little whimpering sound and clung to Gil's curls, almost painfully tight; far from deterring or distracting the man, though, it actually turned him on even more, and his kisses became deeper and more insistent. _I have to stop,_ he told himself. _I can't let this go any further, or I'm going to do something Oz will never forgive me for. He's just a boy, and I'm... I..._ Oz's tongue slipped shyly into Gil's mouth and began to demonstrate what a quick learner the Bezarius heir was, and Gil was undone. _I want him!_

He stood swiftly, lifting Oz in his arms and carrying him to the huge bed in the adjoining room; after depositing his precious bundle in the center of the bedspread, he went and shut the double doors, then threw the bolt.

Oz sat on the bed, breathing hard, eyes wide; when Gil had dropped him there and walked to the door, he'd been afraid the man was going to leave - but now Gil was walking back to the bed with long, purposeful strides, his golden eyes gleaming like a wolf's, his gloved hands untying his cravat. "Gil," Oz said, horrified to hear his voice come out a breathy squeak.

Gil paused beside the bed and pulled off his wet shirt, casting it aside without a second thought, his gaze never leaving Oz's face. "Shhh," he soothed, in that low, rumbling voice that made Oz tremble all the more. "I won't hurt you."

"I- I know that, stupid!" Oz spluttered indignantly, picking up a pillow to throw. "As if I'd let you!" Gil climbed up on the bed and made his way across the mattress with more speed than Oz expected, and instead of chucking the pillow at his friend, the youth ended up pressed back into a pile of them, Gil's mouth hot and demanding on his own.

Gil allowed himself the luxury of exploring Oz's body with his right hand: the column of his neck, the fluted rungs of his delicate collarbones, the flat planes of his heaving chest, the arch of his ribs; Oz whimpered and wriggled as Gil's hand slid across his abdomen, the soft kid glove somehow more stimulating than the rough trouser cloth had been.

That gentle hand caressed Oz's hipbone, and he began to tremble again; he didn't know why, and he couldn't stop himself from doing it. His own hands came up to clutch at Gil's bare shoulders, the skin warm and damp beneath his palms, and little muffled sounds which were immediately caught by Gil's kisses tumbled from his mouth. "Gil," he whispered against the larger man's lips. "Gil..."

Gil felt his young master shaking all over and suffered a twinge of guilt; Oz was obviously scared, and common sense told him to slow down and control himself or he'd completely destroy everything. "Shhh," he breathed again, gently, his mouth brushing the pink shell of Oz's ear. "I won't do anything you don't want me to. I promise." He trailed light, feathery kisses down the youth's jawline to his chin, then worked his way down the tender curve of his throat.

"Gil, I... I..." Those soft, burning kisses moved across his left collarbone and settled over the scar near his heart, the hot sweep of Gil's tongue better than any balm; the kisses traveled lower; Gil's dark hair spilled in tickling, inky curls across Oz's chest; and when that warm, wandering mouth brushed lightly over the tattoo-like mark, Oz was completely unprepared for the feel of Gil's lips on his nipple. "Oh!" he cried, very suddenly; his fingers bit into Gil's shoulders, his body arching upward.

Gil, ever eager to please his master, took this as an invitation and doubled his efforts; he kissed and licked at the sensitive little bud, and was rewarded with the sound of Oz's voice, drawn out in breathy moans that made Gil's entire body feel as though it were on fire. He dared to nibble very lightly, and the boy's hands flew to Gil's hair, caressing the black curls blindly. Gil raised his eyes to look at Oz's face, loving the youth's flushed cheeks, open mouth, and half-lidded eyes. "Does it feel good?" he asked softly, his breath warm on Oz's skin.

"Yes," Oz answered, his voice barely a whisper.


End file.
